


_Down and Out

by glenarvon



Series: _Brilliancy [12]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 00:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4940545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glenarvon/pseuds/glenarvon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aiden copes on a not-so-good night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	_Down and Out

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like warning of **angst** , but I don't wanna. If _I_ encounter that warning, I immediately hit the back button (the way I do on non-con, ooc or slash, self/reader inserts, au, fluff,… basically, I barely read anything). Besides, while Aiden doesn't have a very good time in this one, considering how heavy fanfic lays it on normally, it's pretty tame.  
>  Let it be known that I hate (hate hate hate) the stupid nightmare schtick. Well, fuck it. It's in canon, however, so have at it. I console myself with the fact that Aiden's revenge _works_. It really does make him feel better (also, you did notice I didn't let him have nightmares post-game, right?)
> 
> _Warning:_ I seem to have suddenly developed an inability to distinguish "it's" from "its" for the first time in my life. I mean, I know my English was getting worse every day, but I hadn't realised it was this bad already…
> 
> I'm also a _leeeettle_ vague on how healthcare works in the US, please correct me.

 

[takes place in december 2012]

* * *

With every sting of the needle, Aiden sobered up a little bit more. The nurse had applied some local anaesthetic before getting to work on sewing his eyebrow back together, but the doctor had decreed no other pain medication, since the interaction with his alcohol level was too unpredictable for her taste. Or she was just punishing him and the half dozen or so other men the cops had dumped into the urgent care centre after they'd broken up the brawl.

Across the room, a police officer was still studying his concealed carry licence as if he expected it to suddenly vanish from his hands. Sometimes he paused to look at the curls of the gun-holster on the chair by his side, the bright red auto-6 it contained. Aiden wasn't worried, even without the slightly numbing throb of his head and the sharp, distracting pain, the tuck of thread on his skin.

The licence was real, though obtained through carefully first applying threats, coercion and then overpaying the person in charge. He didn't like the idea of a background check and he certainly didn't want to be trackable in any way. The permit would stand up, though. Aiden could tell the cop wanted his hands on the gun, wanted to check it against open cases, see if anything stuck and was desperately looking for an excuse. 

"So…" the cop started, finally done with the licence. "What happened?"

Aiden watched him dully for a moment, past the elbow of the nurse. The thread pulled on his skin a little sharper and he forced himself not to flinch.

"I don't remember."

Not quite a lie, either, but it wasn't because he'd drunk too much and got punched in the head too often. It was just hard to _care_ enough to remember. Been to a meet in the bar, stuck around for a drink afterward. Some guy was breathing on him wrong and Aiden's temper was on a short fuse these days.

The cop narrowed his eyes in annoyance. The other participants in the brawl would be giving him much the same answer. The bar was down in Red Serpents territory, no one in there would talk to anything in uniform and the only reason the cops had showed up at all was because the brawl had spilled outside and someone had dialled 911 anonymously.

"What were you doing in the bar?" the cop asked.

"Getting a drink."

The cop looked displeased at the answer, clenched his jaw and said, "We don't get many whites in that area."

"Didn't realise we're segregated again."

The cop made a low sound in his throat before he could stop it and clenched his jaw harder. Even through the muffling veil of alcohol and a bone-deep weariness, Aiden could see the thoughts working behind the cop's expression.

"You've got a record," the cop said and did his best to sound casual about it.

"Yes," Aiden agreed calmly. "I did my time."

After a moment's consideration, the cop decided not to make an issue out of it. He didn't seem like he knew if he wanted to be good cop or bad cop in this conversation and Aiden saw no reason to give him more than he needed.

"So… what do you do for a living?" the cop asked eventually, changing his tone far too quickly to make it believable. Like Aiden wouldn't smell the shift from a mile away. Fucking amateur, trying to trip him up.

"I'm between jobs."

This caused another lapse in the man's expression, clearly betraying his surprise. The gun alone was expensive enough to make it sound like a lie. Aiden's coat, thrown over the back of a chair not far from the cop, looked like real money, too.

"What's your profession?" the cop asked.

"Personal trainer," Aiden replied, gave the nurse an irritated look when as she stepped into his view, getting the scissors to snip off the ends of the thread hanging from his eyebrow.

"You got a job for me?" Aiden added once the view was clear again and he could trail a gaze down the cop's slightly pudgy form.

The cop blinked, unsure if Aiden was serious or not, unsure if he had just been insulted in some subtle way. There was another shift in the cop's expression and posture, a kind of internal admission of defeat.

"You know," the cop said. "You don't strike me as someone who frequents that sort of place."

Aiden said nothing. The nurse cleaned up the eyebrow, slathered some antibiotic on it and put a bandage over it. Personally, Aiden could've done without all the fuss. It hadn't even been bleeding that badly, but there you go. This way, the centre made some money, he supposed, and the cop got an additional shot at interviewing him. Everybody wins, or something like that.

"I don't have insurance," Aiden told the nurse and he took it in his stride. Drunks dropped off by the cops probably often didn't.

"We have some payment options for you," the nurse said.

Aiden nodded, kept the cop in his sight from the corner of his eyes. "Can I pay in cash right-away?"

This caused a small ripple of surprise to go through both of them, though the cop was the worse actor, or perhaps he just assumed he wasn't being observed.

"Speak to my colleague at the front desk," the nurse said. "That's not a problem."

Aiden nodded, "Are we done here?"

The nurse gave him a quick once over. He had some additional scraps and bruises, but nothing substantial, nothing that even properly _hurt._

"Yes," the nurse said. "Leave the bandage on for about two days, after that, it's best to let air on it."

Aiden nodded and slid off the bed smoothly. The dimensions of the room didn't quite work for him just yet, but it wasn't like it was spinning and it _certainly_ wasn't something he couldn't play down for the cop's benefit. He'd already caught him off guard very early one. In a way, Aiden decided the man still owed him.

"You don't seem to have any money trouble," the cop remarked.

Aiden stepped toward him, a carefully measured series of movements, probably got him a little too close to the cop for comfort, judging by the man's darkening expression, but he just would have to deal.

"You know how it is," Aiden said with a shrug. "Just trying to save face. This whole thing is very embarrassing to me."

He fixed the cop. "You didn't need to call my sister."

If he'd been more sober, he'd have remembered to dig his heels in and let the cop flounder, but at the time, it had seemed much easier to just give him a number he could call to get him out of Aiden's hair. Now, that he was thinking a little clearer, he realised the cop had been fishing for information even then. His behaviour suggested he had nothing but thought he was onto something. Aiden wasn't entirely sure what he _could_ turn up if he kept digging. Aiden knew he covered his tracks well, but he'd been spreading himself thin recently, it was always possible he'd cut a few more corners than he should have somewhere along the way.

Aiden reached for the sweater he'd taken off earlier, eyed the blood crusted at the collar for a moment, then slipped it on. The blood had dried by then, it scratched uncomfortably. He'd throw it into the next best dumpster, no point in trying to clean the thing.

"It wouldn't be responsible to leave you to yourself," the cop said earnestly. "You looked very bad when you were picked up. And you were very drunk."

The cop looked him over. "You are _still_ very drunk, sir. You hide it well, but I've been around long enough."

"I wouldn't say 'very'," Aiden remarked as he reached past the cop for the coat. He pivoted on his heels, caught the smirk before it could form on his face. He pointed with his chin at the gun and baton.

"Can I have those back?" he asked as politely as he could.

The cop put his weight from one foot to the other, it wasn't quite the step he'd need to intercept Aiden going for either of the weapons, but it was close enough to make Aiden stop.

"You didn't use them in the fight," the cop observed.

Aiden shrugged lightly. "I wasn't thinking straight," he said.

The cop shook his head, "No, actually, I think you were. It was a smart move. If you use the gun, or even the baton, there's a large chance you'd have seriously hurt someone. And then we wouldn't just be chatting."

Aiden didn't answer, not quite sure what move wouldn't betray him in that moment. The cop had screwed his head on better than he'd expected. Sloppy work, Pearce, watch it or pay for it.

He took a breath, smiled a little. "No, I really just didn't get it. But thanks, that's the better story, I gotta tell it to my sister."

He could tell the cop wasn't entirely buying it, but at this point, it wasn't surprising. The man had a hunch, though whether he just suspected Aiden of causing the brawl or whether he thought Aiden needed to be on top of the CPD's most wanted list was anyone's guess. Not like the two options were mutually exclusive, but as long as the cop had nothing in his hands, he couldn't really act. Still meant Aiden needed to get rid of him, the last thing he needed was some beat cop sticking his nose into things entirely too large for him to comprehend. He'd just ruin himself if he tried, Aiden would make sure of it.

"Everything seems in order," the cop finally admitted, made a tiny movement aside to indicate Aiden was allowed back at his weapons. As he slung the gun holster back on, fixed the baton back at his belt he remembered something else. Quickly, irritably, he went through the pockets of his coat.

"Do you have my phone?" he asked sharply. If the idiot had decided to _keep_ it…

"No, sir," the cop said immediately, tone of voice and facial expression matched perfectly, he wasn't lying. "I didn't see it. You must have lost it in the bar."

"Shit," Aiden muttered. At least the cop didn't have it. He probably couldn't crack it, but it'd just spurn his curiosity on more, make him dig harder. He pretended to ignore the cop, if he had anything else to say, Aiden had no doubt he would, but for now, his silence was blissful enough.

Aiden draped the coat over his arm and turned to walk out of the room, feeling the cop stalk him into the bleached beige of the corridor outside. At the other end, he spotted the counter. The cop was still with him as he headed that way.

"If anything comes back to you…" the cop started.

"I'll let you know," Aiden assured him, knew he almost managed to sound like he meant it. Almost. The displeasure came off the cop in waves, but Aiden didn't need him to know even half the story, no matter how curious and suspicious the man was. He could try charging Aiden with assault and battery, but didn't seem to think it was a good idea. He had a dozen gang-bangers on hand for that and it made for the more palatable story. Aiden was just some guy who got caught up in something. Even _if_ he hadn't got his acting all straight and the cop had a bad feeling about him.

The young woman behind the counter eyed him with practised disinterest that sparked into another bout of vague curiosity when he handed over the two hundred bucks he owed them, but at least she left it uncommented.

"I'm not happy letting you leave just like that."

Aiden turned a slow gaze to the woman, assessing her. The cop had left by then, went to help out with questioning the other participants of the brawl, an endeavour doubtlessly just as fruitless as his talk with Aiden had been.

Not sure what response the woman wanted, Aiden rubbed a numb hand along his jaw, intentionally causing the blooming bruise to spread its sting across his face. By tomorrow, half his face would be black and blue and swollen. He'd got at least one in the stomach, too, according to the persistent nausea climbing up his throat. Could be the drink, too, but it didn't quite feel like it.

"You won't have to," Aiden told her finally when he spotted his sister's slim shape from the corner of his eyes. He managed to give the young woman a wan smile that didn't seem to impress her much, not that he could blame her. He must look like shit and the white light in the corridor hurt his eyes, making him squint at Nicky as she stopped a few steps away. She looked tired, bags under her eyes, hair pulled back from her face into a messy ponytail. Her face was so blank it hurt to look at her.

"There's no reason to be afraid," the woman behind the counter said and Aiden snapped his attention back to her. She was starting to annoy him and maybe it was time she figured that out.

His look, though somewhat bleary, made her falter for a moment, but she picked up her rehearsed little speech again immediately, meeting his gaze earnestly.

"We can help you," she said and picked up a calling card from the rack on the counter. Swift fingers bundled it with a couple of leaflets before she pushed everything toward him. "If you let us. Think on it."

Aiden heard a sound he needed a moment to place. It was Nicky, chuckling quietly and mirthlessly to herself. Aiden didn't quite know what to do with the leaflets and the woman's helpful but misguided intentions, though he had a feeling throwing it all into her face would be counterproductive. Nicky reacted faster than he did, reached past him and picked everything up, used the same arm to hook with his, nudged him into movement.

"Thank you," she said to the woman who seemed disappropriately pleased with herself, but at least said nothing more.

The unexpected apparition of Nicky's humour barely lasted to the door and it was gone completely by the time they were through it.

Outside, the air was cold and it hit him in the face like a fist. It was the best he could do not to trip over his own feet without needing Nicky to steady himself. Nicky was still holding on to his arm and he wasn't sure if she thought he needed the support.

"Come on," he grumbled. "I'm not _that_ drunk."

Nicky said nothing, only took a breath that barely made it to a sigh, but she only let him go when they reach the car and she left him standing by the passenger door while she walked around, unlocked the car.

The silence in the car was sudden, the same impact as the fresh air of before, but this was choking instead. At least, Aiden thought wearily, he was sitting down this time, allowing himself to sink into the seat. It took a moment too long to remember his self-control.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Nicky glanced over him briefly as she reached for the ignition and started the car. The roar was quiet, but better than nothing and at least she couldn't look at him while she was driving. He couldn't quite decide if it would help if he turned on the radio or if the insistent jabbering would just advertise his unease.

"Did… did the call wake up Jacks?" he asked after a moment.

He thought he saw Nicky consider the question, not because it would be hard to answer he supposed, but because she needed to figure out if she wanted to. Eventually, she said, "No, his meds make him sleepy. He didn't hear a thing."

He said nothing at the sudden relief he felt, it'd be too hard to keep from his voice so silence was better. He didn't think there was anything he could say that'd make a difference to Nicky.

At a stop sign, Nicky looked at him again and said, "Where do we even go?"

It took a while until he realised she was just asking directions, not posing some deeply profound philosophical question for him to ponder.

"I got a room at the Owl Motel," he said. "It's in Parker Square."

If he had his phone with him, he could've simply transferred the data to the car's GPS, he had already stuck his hand in his pocket when he remembered the thing wasn't there anymore and he indulged himself to consider the implications with the serenity of the truly drunk and depressed. Perhaps the cop had picked it up after all, Aiden hadn't been exactly on top of it during that conversation, after all. Perhaps he had simply lied about it. With the phone, even though Aiden was thorough about what the phone logged and didn't, there was still enough illegal software on the thing to put him away, even without linking that software to dozens of unsolved crimes in the city. They could find him in the Owl, take him by surprise before his hangover had even subsided…

At least it was still far more likely that the some other patron in the bar had pocketed the phone and was trying and failing to break its encryption. He'd run out of patience and take the phone apart, sell its parts in a pawnshop and any trace would go cold even under ctOS surveillance. Or, whoever still had the phone come morning, Aiden could track them himself and they'd sure _wish_ they'd never touched it at all.

"I don't have a drinking problem," Aiden said and knew it sounded exactly like what anyone with a drinking problem would say. He wasn't even sure about it. He thought he might have been drinking more than normal, but he didn't attribute any therapeutic effect to it. It didn't help him cope, it didn't help him sleep, it was just something he _did,_ sometimes. At any rate, he had more pressing problems, but he didn't want Nicky to worry, she had enough on her plate without him adding to it.

"I know," Nicky said after a while.

"I got mixed up in a fight," Aiden continued, even though she hadn't asked. "It wasn't my fault."

Nicky gave no answer and her silence sounded just like an accusation. He'd told better lies, he'd readily admit, but while his head started to throb slightly, it wasn't getting any clearer. He felt about ready to drop face first into his bed and that was that. It'd be one of the better nights.

"I'm sorry," he said again, but he wasn't even sure what he was apologising for. All the things he did, everything he'd ever done wrong, a mere _sorry_ wasn't going to cut it. There seemed no point in even trying.

"You're my brother," Nicky finally said, though the way she clenched her hands around the wheel gave her away. He'd tried not to look, give her the privacy, but in the end they were in a small car and the glittering lights passing outside the window held no fascination for him. He'd seen it all, there was nothing new out there.

"You don't have to worry about me."

"Oh shut up," Nicky snorted. "It's not something I can turn off just like that."

"Fair enough," Aiden muttered, turned his gaze away from her, forced himself to focus on the road. "But I can take care of myself."

He almost felt the moment snap, the tension in Nicky as it unwound and lashed him across the face.

"Can you? What are you even doing?" she demanded. "You haven't come to visit us _once_ since the funeral! Do you even know what that's like? For me? For Jacks? You think taking him to the park every other weekend makes up for it?"

"I shouldn't come," he said. "Not while Mom's still there."

"Come off your damn high horse!" Nicky snapped. "Whatever's fucked up between you two, it's ten years in the past."

"Yeah, well," Aiden said, seething quietly to himself. "But nothing's changed."

Nicky punched the wheel and the car made a little jump to the right, giving Aiden a tiny jolt to combat his tiredness, but Nicky steadied the car easily.

"And what are you doing when you aren't with us? Sitting around some motel room, getting drunk?"

"I don't drink that much," he pointed out, but it didn't really seem the point she'd been making.

"What do you _do,_ Aiden?"

He sighed, tried and failed to lose himself in the seat.

"I'm figuring it out," he answered meekly.

Nicky huffed, but instead of snapping at him the way she clearly wanted, she said nothing, squared her shoulders as she focussed on the street again, letting silence creep back in.

Kathleen had come to stay with Nicky after the accident, giving Aiden a handy excuse for keeping his distance. It wasn't that they couldn't be civil to each other, but it was an old wound he didn't feel like opening up again, not while he was still reeling from the new one. He couldn't handle Kathleen's accusations. He especially couldn't handle them when they were true. Besides, everything that needed to be said between them, it had already been said and it had only made matters worse.

"Take a left here," Aiden said.

Unlike him, Nicky had had her life figured out. Steady job, two beautiful children, nice house, ruined marriage. Though even that last one was something they all had weathered well. Aiden wasn't sure what Kent was doing these days. He'd been at the funeral, devastated, but Aiden hadn't followed up on him. He probably had returned to Seattle, where he'd moved to for a job after the divorce. He hadn't offered to stay, but perhaps that was for the best. He'd never been good at emotional support and Nicky didn't need someone else helplessly depending on her.

"Next left again," he said. "You can see the motel from there."

Nicky had given it her all and Chicago had been good to her in return, while Aiden's life was a pyramid scheme and it had started to collapse around him. He deserved it, he guessed, everything he got and worse, but she very much didn't.

He barely noticed Nicky turning into the car park outside the Owl, but the bright lights passing over his face reminded him of where he was, just in time for Nicky to stop the car. The engine tinkled, cooling, and the city sounds crashed against them in waves.

The Owl was an interesting place. During daylight, it managed to appear respectable enough, somewhat rundown and in need of renovation, but neither was an unusual sight after several bouts of economic crises. At night, the Owl tended to attract a shadier crowd, hookers and drug dealers mostly, some burnouts hanging around the place to buy from either. Aiden could only imagine what Nicky was thinking, he couldn't make out her expression.

"Mom's going to go back to Aurora," Nicky said unexpectedly.

"I know," Aiden mumbled without thinking.

"What? How?"

Aiden blinked, shock climbing down his spine, but he thought he covered it well enough. If he couldn't see Nicky's face, she couldn't see his. "She's got a job and she's been here for two months," he explained, reasonably, but he was glad Nicky accepted the explanation without questioning it further.

She let go of the wheel and turned in the seat to face him. He could see her squint in the darkness, trying to see better.

"Aiden, you can come home," she said. "It's important to me."

She reached out with a hand, put it on his arm and all he could do under her touch was go completely still, too afraid to scare her off. He couldn't think of anything to say.

"You don't have to punish yourself out here." 

As if stung, Aiden snapped away from her, shook her loose grip and opened the door with more force than necessary. The cold airhit him again, as cruel as before and just as unexpected as before.

"I'm not…" he snarled, stopped to force some semblance of calm back into his voice, sitting on the outer edge of the seat. "That's not it," he finished.

He was about to get out of the car when Nicky reached out again, clamped her hand around his arm and kept him in place with surprising strength.

"We all lost her," she said, voice strained, holding on to him firmly. "We all suffer, but we're a family, we can be there for each other."

For a long moment, Aiden didn't know what to say, held in place by her words more than her grip. Nicky sounded so desperate and lost, he could barely bear being this close to her. He supposed he just wasn't that strong, but he certainly wasn't strong enough to leave her there, even if it _was_ better for everyone, him and her and Jacks, too.

"I'm sorry, Nik," he said quietly. "I can't… I… I just need some time."

He wasn't sure where he dredged up enough willpower to pretend any form of control, but he put a hand over hers and very gently pulled her loose, squeezed her fingers reassuringly.

"Thank you for picking me up," he said. "I'll come back, I'm not leaving you and Jacks alone, but I need some more time."

Nicky wrapped her other hand around his, nodding in the dark as she slowly let go of him.

"Okay," she said quietly. "But I'm serious. If you need me, if you have a problem you can't handle, I'm there. I _want_ to be there, okay? You don't protect me by cutting me out, I just worry more."

On the contrary, Aiden thought, he _was_ protecting her. The less he associated with her, the less likely she became a target, but that argument probably wasn't going to fly.

"Give Jacks a hug from me," Aiden said and after a moment, added, "And tell Mom it's not personal. It's just better that way."

A trickle of humour returned to Nicky's voice. "I'm sure she'll say the same thing. Do you need a driver tomorrow? I could drop you off wherever you've left your car."

He shook his head. "Nah, I'll just take the L."

"All right, Aiden, time you got to bed," she said with another smile and although it was genuine, it just made her look more tired.

"You too, sis."

"Yeah," she agreed, even laughed a little and Aiden finally slipped out from the car, surprisingly glad to be back on his own feet and on steady ground. The anaesthetic and the booze was rapidly wearing off, leaving him weary and hollow.

He stepped back from the car and watched as Nicky drove back to the street, tracked her taillights with his gaze until she was out of sight around a corner.

The regulars hanging around the Owl knew better than to bother him, ignoring him or hastily stepping out of his way. He'd liked to fly under the radar better than this, but he supposed at least it wasn't a huge problem. Parker Square didn't have gangs the way his old neighbourhoods did, but if you left law and order far enough behind, you figured out another way to survive and one of these things included learning to pick your battles. The tall guy in the leather coat with the red gun? Yeah, well, let's not bother him unnecessarily, shall we?

Aiden went up the steps and made his way to his door. It took some fumbling for the keys in his pocket and then some more fumbling until he fit it into the lock.

"Sorry, handsome," a hooker said, smoking a cigarette not far from him. He hadn't even realised he'd been looking her way while he went through his pockets. 

"Unless you want sloppy seconds, you gotta give me a few minutes," she added and took a drag on the cigarette.

Aiden only shook his head, too tired even to give an answer before he pushed in through the door and let it fall closed behind him, too glad to be alone.

He stood for a long moment in the dark room, listened to the quiet hiss of his computers and the faint music coming through the walls. He waited until his vision adjusted and he could see the shapes of the furniture by the sickly yellow light that fell through a gap in the curtains and the tiny points of light from the computers.

As he walked past the computer, he slipped a hand over the keyboard, woke the system from sleep and the monitors came on without any reluctance, the drive chattering quietly to itself. He'd need to find his phone and deal with whoever had pocketed it and he still needed to find the information he'd been in that bar to buy. There was a trail here, he could practically smell it, but it was leading right into Viceroy territory and he had to be smart and careful if he meant to take them on.

He walked past the desk and to the fridge, cast a dull eye inside. Half a bottle of scotch, one and a half six-pack of beer, a box of chinese takeout he couldn't remember putting there…

He sighed quietly to himself and picked up an energy drink instead, took it back to the computer. Already sitting down, he awkwardly peeled his coat off, left it bunched behind his back as his fingers rested on the keyboard and mouse.

He opened the programme that linked up to the cameras in Nicky's house. Jacks' room was in darkness, the boy seemed to be sleeping soundly, curled around a stuffed toy and huddled comfortably in his blankets.

Kathleen was dozing in the living room in front of the television, the flickering light from the screen played across her features, harsh even now. They hadn't spoken since he went to jail and even before that, it had been nothing but bitter exchanges. It had been easier to just avoid each other. And seeing Kathleen on the funeral, he'd realised there was nothing they could say to each other anymore. He blamed himself for Lena's death, but somehow hearing it from her would've been unbearable.

He drank from the can, pulled a face at the metallic aftertaste. Maybe Nicky was right and he just should go to bed.

It took longer than that, sipping on the drink, watching the video feeds from Nicky's house until he had himself reassured everything was fine, when Nicky came home and Kathleen stirred from the couch. They talked briefly and Aiden knew without listening when Nicky mentioned his name. The sour frown on his mother's face was enough.

Suddenly even more tired, Aiden turned off the monitor, let the room fall into darkness as he got up.

Groaning at his numerous bruises, he peeled off the rest of his clothes, kicked his boots away somewhere into a corner and finally let himself fall into bed, surprised at how welcoming the blanket and pillows turned out to be.

* * *

_The tunnel stretches on, traffic is thin and he sees the bikes come up behind him, like hunting hyena._

_Fuck it, Pearce, you've got the skill, you've been in that place, you know_ exactly _what they're doing, you know before they come up on either side of your car. You fucking_ know, _and all your reflexes all the fucking useless years you spent cheating at this game, what's the point of it if in the one moment it counts, all you do is stare like an idiot?_

_There's so much he can do, he has the time. He's the better driver, the better gunman, too, even if he keeps the gun locked away in the glove compartment when he's riding with the children. The car's solid, not a muscle car but reliable enough. All he needs to do is drive into them, a little slide of the wheel, touch and go, the bike crashes but he'll be able to steady the car, take care of the other guy on the other bike. They'll be left smears in the tunnel and a few scratches on his ride, a brief shock for the kids and a stern lecture from Nicky later._

_He can hit the brakes, just hard enough so one of the bikers shoots past, take the car to the left and swipe the back wheel away from him. He can't see the other biker, but he's somewhere behind, perhaps he'll just collide with them, harmlessly._

_He's been there. He's done it. Been on the receiving end, too, and it's not a pleasant memory. It can be done and easily. At this speed, no biker wants to fuck up._

_Aiden's there, in that moment in the tunnel with all his skills and all his tools, but at the same time, he's_ not. _The criminal in him isn't there. The thug, the gang-banger, the fixer, the social engineer, the con-man, the hitman… they aren't there with him. They have no place in that car with two precious children. It's the point, he doesn't_ need _them here, he was never supposed to. He thinks he can have it all, can have the thrill of the fast cars and the money and reassuring weight of a gun in his hand. He can have the intoxicating rush of victory._

_And he thinks he knows he can have_ this _, too, where he won't need to be ready to fight._

_But the truth is, he can't._

_He's too slow, his reaction comes from too far away, from the other world he inhabits most of his nights and days, lightyears away because that's where he leaves it when he picks up Lena and Jacks._

_So all he does is stare down the barrel of a gun like he's never seen one before, like it's a toy they used to play cowboy and indians in Nicky's backyard and he pretends to be afraid. It renders him normal and being normal, in that moment, means he's helpless and lost, out of his depth._

_Looking back, he just wants that bullet to the face._

_He can never remember the crash itself._

_Later, they tell him he either never lost consciousness or regained it quickly. They even played him the recording of his 911 call. The cops who came into the hospital to question him, they tell him first responders found him digging through the wreckage. He has the cuts and burns on his hands to prove it, too, sliced up to his elbows. They tell him he's saved Jacks, freed him from the car, broken but breathing._

_They say he pulls Lena from the car, too, what was left of her…_

_Every time his mind replays it, though, the scene cuts out with the gunshot._

_Every time he wakes up, he_ still _wants that bullet._

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise to everyone who's sick and tired of seeing my fics crowd the archive...
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Revised** _on 19/May/2016_


End file.
